On Divorce Day, I Took Down His Fame

Chapter 4

Mike's firm sent him away on a business trip. He told me he was traveling to Bundford for three days to meet a high-value client.

I simply nodded and said nothing.

The morning he set off, I helped him pack his suitcase. I spotted a brand new dress shirt tucked inside. I'd never purchased it for him.

Still, I chose not to bring the subject up.

The second he left the house, I sent Sara a message.

Whitney: Is Mike in Bundford?

She never replied.

But she updated her social media feed shortly afterward.

Her photo captured an ocean view hotel suite. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the shimmering riverside night skyline.

Her caption read:

Out on a work trip, keeping someone company.

A hand peeked into the frame's corner, fitted with a wedding band.

I zoomed in. There was no room for doubt. It belonged to Mike.

I sat motionless, not uttering a single word.

The next day, I booked a one-way flight to Bundford.

I told no one about my trip, least of all him.

I walked into the hotel lobby and messaged Mike.

Whitney: Where are you?

Mike: I'm stuck in nonstop meetings here in Bundford. Completely swamped with work.

Whitney: Got it.

I waited three full hours in the lobby. At 9 p.m., I watched Mike step out of the elevator to grab takeout food. He wore that unfamiliar new shirt, his hair neatly combed into place.

He never spotted me.

I waited until he retreated back to his room, then held off another ten minutes before heading upstairs.

I'd known the exact room number all along. Sara had tagged the location in her social media posts.

I knocked on the door.

Two seconds of silence passed from inside the room. Then Mike's voice called out. "Who's there?"

I stayed silent.

I knocked three more times.

The door swung open.

Mike froze the instant his eyes locked onto me. He instinctively blocked the doorway to keep me from stepping further inside. "What are you doing here?"

"Just passing by," I replied casually, no emotion in my voice.

His features darkened instantly. "What is this supposed to mean?"

I pushed the door open and stepped into the room. The drapes were drawn shut, casting the space in a dim shadow. The television played quietly in the background, and the bedsheets were tangled and messy. Two water bottles rested on the nightstand, one half-empty.

Sara emerged from the bathroom wrapped only in a bath towel, her hair still damp.

She showed zero signs of panic upon seeing me. She simply smiled. "What a surprise running into you here."

My gaze shifted back and forth between Mike and Sara.

Sara tilted her head and hitched the towel higher over her shoulders. "Don't jump to the wrong conclusions. We're here strictly for work. Sharing a room makes going over project details far more convenient."

Mike cut in fast to back her story up. "That's exactly it. We were going over project roadmaps."

I nodded slowly. "Do you really need a shower to go over business matters?"

Sara let out a soft chuckle and said nothing in response. She walked over and sat down on the bed. Her bath towel slipped a little lower, yet she made no move to adjust it.

I looked Mike straight in the eyes. "You're heading home in three days, correct?"

"We're actually flying back tomorrow," he answered.

"Understood."

I turned around and left the room.

As the elevator doors slid closed, I caught sight of Mike standing in the doorway. He made no attempt whatsoever to chase me down.

Heavy rain lashed down outside the hotel. I hadn't brought an umbrella with me.

I stood curbside trying to flag down a taxi for ten minutes with zero luck.

My phone buzzed.

Sara: You've misread everything, Whitney. There's absolutely nothing going on between us.

A photo was attached to the message.

Mike's phone lay open on the hotel bed, the screen lit up. Our chat window was pulled up, and my last unanswered message was clearly visible. He'd chosen not to reply.

It was an obvious jab. He'd seen my text and ignored it, too occupied keeping her company.

I slipped my phone back into my purse. A taxi finally pulled over to pick me up.

Riding in the backseat, I messaged Amy.

Whitney: It's time to execute the plan.

Amy: Right now?

Whitney: Yes.

Amy: Do we move against the company as well?

Whitney: Everything.

I arrived at the airport at 1 a.m.

The departure terminal was nearly deserted. I sat alone on a seat and scrolled through my phone.

Sara dropped another social media update. There was no photo this time, only a short line of text.

The caption read:

Some people are better off being let go sooner rather than later.

Mike liked the post.

I saved a screenshot, powered my phone off, then boarded my flight.

I got home at 4 a.m. I peeled off my soaked clothes, took a shower, and stood facing the full-length mirror.

A thirty-one-year-old woman stared back at me. Fine creases had formed at the outer corners of my eyes, and a faint burn scar marked one hand, left behind from cooking over the previous holiday season.

I stood there for a long while, then flipped open my laptop.

I logged into the backend panel of my Selena creator account. A brand-new article was waiting in my drafts' folder.

Its title read: I Didn't Come Here to Catch a Cheater. I Came to Close the Net.

I scheduled the piece to publish at ten o'clock the following morning.

I shut down the laptop and headed to bed.